


Twisted

by pants2match



Category: Major Crimes
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pants2match/pseuds/pants2match
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to a closed office door, don't barge in if you're going to complain about what you find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted

Andrea Hobbs is well-versed in closed door-etiquette, having spent the entirety of her career in such an environment where only the most important and valuable are awarded with four walls and a door on hinges with a lock (that is _actually_ installed in it’s frame), she knows the rules.

The first and, well, most important of those being: don’t barge in if you’re going to complain about what you see.

There are the more innocent reasons behind those rules; a boss, sleeping on his couch, sans pants in tighty-whiteys; a colleague, emptying her stomach into her trash can, her face tear-streaked, snotty and pale from “the flu”. But then there are the less innocent, the ones that have her wishing she was the blackmailing type with the frequency of her encounters; her English Lit-minor professor with one of his male students bent over his desk, whispering things she wish she could forget in a voice that still slithers into her nightmares; her boss (not tighty-whiteys), hand rapid-fire around his dick (or his rod or his Johnson, she recites in her mind, the blunt-toned dulcet voice working like Spray ’n Wipe for her soul), as a woman who is definitely not his wife tells him exactly what he can do with it (speakerphone is a wonderful invention); and most recently, Chief Investigator Johnson (speaking of Johnsons), moaning and purring as she takes her fist blissful bite into a freshly unwrapped Ding-Dong — Andrea had stood in the doorway a full five seconds before Brenda’s glazed-over doe-eyes met her own and a blush crept up her chest to her cheeks (“I’ll leave you two alone” she’d said, and raced back to her office trying to catch her breath and never _ever_ recall this _ever_ again. Not even for fun.

So when Andrea barrels her way into the woman she’s recently come to know as “Bending-the-Rulebook Raydor”, she still, even with all her prior experience, all that she knows about the woman and whatever weirdness she has going on with her Lieutenant, Andrea was not prepared for this.

What she had been prepared for, was a stubborn mule not wanting to leave her paperwork for the weekend, not even for the juiciest carrot Andrea could dangle over her desk. She had the speech ready (“See, I really don’t appreciate it when you don’t pick up your phone and I have to haul my ass all the way up here just to ask you to a dinner I was _already_ planning on paying for.”), She had the walk ready, the disapproving-come-sympathetic look to give the semi-empty-nester who’s not letting herself have a social life this month, even the cock of her hip as she’d lean over Sharon’s desk and dangle her shiny pendant at her like a hypnotist.

But no, after sharing the customary snide look with Provenza, Andrea didn’t even get past the threshold for lo and behold, there she was, skirt crumpled to her waist, with her head thrown back mid-moan, as her Lieutenant, Andy Goddamn Flynn, sucks on her pulsepoint in a way that come morning his boss will crucify him for (not a fan of the turtleneck or the fashion scarf). Andrea thinks for a moment that there’s some disgusting “juicy carrot” metaphor to be said, but the very expensive scrap of green lace and silk left on the carpet leaves her at a blank.

So, she bolts, slamming the door much louder than intended (but definitely loud enough that one of them will notice).

Provenza, groaning at the slam, refers to his Captain in a tone Andrea thinks is him saying _maybe you’re not the three-headed dog that guards hell_ : “Well, someone has her panties in a twist.”

“You’ve got no idea, Louie” is all Andrea shouts back as she desperately, desperately calls the elevator.


End file.
